


And There Would Be No Grand Choirs to Sing

by stardustedknuckles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Freeform, I expect this to appeal to about two people, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 23:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20536187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustedknuckles/pseuds/stardustedknuckles
Summary: Crowley isn't limited to being snake or humanoid, but he does have to be able to relate strongly to another creature before he can take its shape.





	And There Would Be No Grand Choirs to Sing

**Author's Note:**

> Title from FatM "No Choir." The lyrics are very fitting, but this isn't a songfic.

“Just a few more minutes, Crowley dear.” Crowley sighed and sagged woundedly against a conveniently hip-high ferret enclosure, crossing his legs and settling in.

“Isn’t your lot a bit uptight about the lying thing?” Crowley asked with an affected air of innocent curiosity. “Not related at all, but may I remind you that you said ‘a few more minutes’ _several_ of those minutes ago?”

“You may,” Aziraphale responded politely, gently rubbing the soft ear of the puppy that had captured his attention forty-five minutes ago and didn’t seem inclined to give it up anytime soon. Crowley scowled at it, thinking a hundred curses and putting no demonic energy into any of them. He wasn’t nearly as bored as he was behaving. It was mostly a smokescreen for the _other _feeling, the one he kept locked in a box somewhere and only noticed when he tripped over it later. It didn’t bother him when Aziraphale gave his attention to other things, that wasn’t it. He only need ask and his angel would lavish the same attention and affection on him. He shuddered reflexively away from the thought even as it warmed him. _That _was the problem. Crowley wasn’t built for the affection he sought to give or to receive. He watched the way Aziraphale’s face scrunched and opened fully with equal delight as he ran his prim hands all over the pup’s head and ribs so that it wriggled and fell on its back, worrying at Aziraphale’s fingers with needle-sharp teeth while the angel cooed at it and gave it belly rubs.

_Belly rubs, for Satan’s sake_. Crowley sniffed and tried to forget that he had ever been capable of Aziraphale’s open-faced joy in everything around him.

“Right, how much d’you want for him?” He addressed the shelter worker who sat at the desk next to the little gated area that contained the puppy and what now appeared to be a rather-expectant-looking angel sitting cross-legged on the floor and also turning his attention to the teenager at the booth.

The girl glanced back and forth between Crowley’s expressionless sunglasses and Aziraphale’s gently besotted face and spoke hesitantly. “That’s my dog, actually.” She tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear. “The last shelter dog was adopted an hour before you got here, but I thought he could use the socialization. Sorry,” she added as Aziraphale’s face did a complicated sort of maneuver where nine-tenths of his expression arranged itself into delight and one-tenth…didn’t.

“Well!” Aziraphale said as his face finished dragging itself into full sincerity. “He is a _lovely_ puppy and he absolutely _adores_ you.” He got to his feet and bent down to place his hand one more time on the puppy’s head. It sat very quietly for the first time Crowley had seen as Aziraphale said, mostly to the puppy, “May he be an outstanding companion to you for all the length of his days.”

He removed his hand and the puppy blinked and shook itself before chasing its tail in a circle and collapsing to chew vigorously on the end of the girl’s untied shoelace, which had poked through the wiring unnoticed.

“Thanks,” she said uncertainly, giving a little wave.

Once they were outside, Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned to Aziraphale with something that looked very much like the face someone would make when they were impressed and trying to cover it up with a smirk. “Using a whole blessing on a dog?” he questioned, but the look on Aziraphale’s face did something unpleasant somewhere inside him and he said, “Angel?” very softly.

“Hm? Oh,” Aziraphale’s smile hastily replaced the expression of disappointment that usually accompanied someone actually pulling off the act of purchasing a book from his shop. “He really did deserve it though,” he said. “I mean they all do, of course, but.” Aziraphale stared out over the bustling street, pushing his hands into the pockets of his wool coat.

For the millionth time, Crowley cursed himself for his cowardice. It would be so easy to reach over and take Aziraphale’s hand. He imagined the way his face would change, the smile he’d given the puppy spreading across his face with no thought given to suppressing it. Being on the receiving end of that much warmth was a beautiful thought. Crowley’s hands stayed where they were. He said, wretchedly, “we’ll find another one for you,” and knew it was the wrong thing to say. Unless.

A few weeks later, Crowley was sat in his seat at the desk in his apartment, fingers steepled as he regarded the two items resting in front of the bag they had come out of. He felt pulled taut, on the verge of taking off running without a clue as to where. It was a wonderful, terrible feeling. Would this work? He and Aziraphale had been comfortably something _else_ for a year now, which was nothing and everything after six thousand of them. He stared some more at the fabric and the edge of its small metal ring winking at him. He imagined Aziraphale laughing himself silly, felt the live wire in him contract just slightly. Then he stood abruptly, yanked his coat off the rack, and dropped the contents of the bag into his pocket before he could think his way out of this.  


Aziraphale looked startled for a moment when he opened the door to find Crowley on the other side of the knock that had roused him from his nightly book. A fine layer of snow dusted the tops of Crowley's shoulders and the ends of his hair, and his sunglasses were specked with water droplets. Aziraphale beamed and pushed the door open wide, ushering Crowley in and beginning a steady stream of chatter that Crowley knew would only be broken by the tea his angel would invariably insist on making. He was counting on that tea, or this wasn’t going to work.

“I had a _history major_ come in around three – you know how much harder those are to get rid of than regular people, good heavens. Black or green for you tonight, dear?”

The wire had relaxed on Crowley’s walk; it pulled suddenly tighter than before so that he had to work to hide the strain in his voice when he said, “I think green tonight, please.”

Aziraphale was good at noticing things and electing not to comment on them; the only indication Crowley had that Aziraphale had picked up on anything unusual at all was the way he wiped his perfectly clean hands on his waistband before seamlessly replying, “Coming right up,” and disappearing around the corner, resuming his story about the earlier guest.

Crowley focused on his breathing and pulled his glasses off slowly. His hand was numb and tingling, barely registering the weight of the glasses or the surface of the table as he deposited them quietly on it.

Aziraphale might laugh.

Crowley paused, took a deep breath. Laughter was something he was quite pleased to elicit from his angel no matter how freely he gave it to the world around him. And yet.

He heard Aziraphale pulling down their mugs from the cupboard, signaling his imminent return. No time to dawdle. Throwing his doubts to the wind, Crowley released his breath and got to work.

“You look like you have something on your mind,” Aziraphale said as the corner of the tea tray appeared in the doorway, followed by his hands, his arms, his portly body, and then his face. “Did you want to…” he trailed off and looked down, into Crowley’s eyes.

“Oh,” he said very softly, and then, _“oh.”_ Crowley watched anxiously as Aziraphale set the tray down on the table and then sank down onto the couch with a reassuring smile. He sat very properly and tapped the palms of his hands twice against his knees, inviting.

Red satin collar jingling slightly, Crowley the dog scrambled somewhat clumsily up the side of the couch and into Aziraphale’s lap. He picked his paws up carefully and circled twice on the angel’s thighs before lying down and daring to turn his eyes up. “Look at you,” Aziraphale said softly. He didn’t sound like he was anywhere close to laughing. He sounded almost overwhelmed, like he was in awe of the trust being given to him in this moment and didn’t dare move too quickly less he startle the wiry-haired mutt that was now Crowley into hiding. Tentatively, Crowley pushed his nose under Aziraphale’s carefully folded hands, then his whole head.

The love rolling off of Aziraphale was unmistakable and all-encompassing, and Crowley’s new body responded to it of its own volition. He wriggled and licked Aziraphale’s fingers as they came back to stroke him from ears to tail, unable to keep still with the relief and the joy of finally coming close to reflecting on the outside something close to what was on the inside.

A new wave of contentment rolled through Crowley with every pass of Aziraphale’s hand down his back, until he could hardly stand it and rolled completely over, wiggling deeper into Aziraphale’s lap when he gasped delightedly and dutifully brought his fingers down to rub the soft gray belly.

“Crowley, dear?” he said a few moments later. Crowley opened his eyes halfway and blinked muzzily at the angel, half asleep with pleasure. Aziraphale chuckled softly and resumed petting. “It’s nothing,” he said as Crowley closed his eyes and exhaled deeper into his lap. “It’s just…I don’t think dogs are the ones that purr.”

_Bugger,_ Crowley thought blearily. And then, as he fell soundly asleep: _this one does._


End file.
